


secondhand smoke

by princesskay



Series: fragile (handle with force) [9]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rough Sex, S&M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: The line between Bill and Holden's professional and private relationships blurs as the stress of Atlanta and Bill's home situation mounts.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Series: fragile (handle with force) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552183
Comments: 13
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

“I ain’t no fucking faggot.” 

Holden turns the cassette player off on Henley’s angry retort, and slides the headphones down around his neck. The silence of the BSU basement rushes in to fill the void, holding up a microphone to his deep inhale and weary sigh. 

He spent most of the day focusing on interviews, the Henley conversation that he and Bill had missed in particular, while trying to shove Atlanta from his mind. He had felt strongly that their ejection from the case was more the fault of the commissioner and politics than himself right up until Bill had come from Ted’s office like a bat from hell, spitting out a harsh tongue-lashing for the entire department to hear. 

Gregg had asked, “Is everything okay with you two?” 

Holden brushed it off, but he doesn’t have an honest answer. Things have been different since Vacaville, but this Atlanta situation is shining a light on the dark, undiscovered parts of their relationship that he hadn’t been entirely prepared to explore. When they’re behind closed doors, he likes it when Bill takes charge, orders him around, and humiliates him; but they’re at work, and it doesn’t feel good, not at all the way it does when they’re alone. 

Setting aside the headphones, Holden checks his watch. It’s getting late, and almost everyone else has left for the day. He didn’t see Bill leave yet, so that must mean he’s still hanging around. 

_ Just go in there and apologize.  _ He thinks, drawing in a deep breath against the jitter of nerves that wash down his spine at the thought. 

It should be a simple thing. They’ve worked together for so long now that pride should be set aside in favor of friendship. But deep in his chest, in a place where Holden clings onto his stubborn intuition, he thinks there isn’t really anything to apologize for. He’d given the commissioner an honest answer, and in his opinion, the correct answer. It’s politics that blockaded them from assisting any further in the investigation. 

Gathering his jacket and briefcase, Holden turns off his desk lamp, and wanders out of the bullpen. He slows as he approaches Bill’s office. The door is shut, but the light is still on. If he shifts one foot to the left, he can see through the row of glass windows to where Bill is slouched in his chair, his feet propped up on the edge of the desk. 

Holden smooths the front of his tie nervously. 

_ Apologize.  _ But, the taste of humble pie is only sweet when he’s naked and tied down, trembling with the sting of punishment, opening his mouth for Bill to shove the shame down his throat. 

By the time Holden reaches the door of Bill’s office, the idea of admitting any kind of wrongdoing is glazed over with a rigid petulance and an impatient need coiling in his belly. 

He knocks softly, and doesn’t wait for the reply before easing the door open. 

“Hey.” He says, sticking his head past the door. 

Bill glances up over the rim of his reading glasses. He tugs the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Hey.” He says. 

“I was about to head out.” 

“Okay.” Bill says. His gaze flicks back the case file in his lap, dismissive. 

Holden’s shoulders tense, irritation knotting in his belly. “I was thinking about getting a drink on the way home.” 

“I’m good.” Bill says, before Holden can extend an invitation. “I have to get home and help Nancy out.” 

“It’s pretty late.” Holden says, “Is she still at the hospital with her mom?” 

“No.” Bill says, not looking up from the file. “It looks like she’s going to be fine.” 

Holden watches him closely, a frown knitting his brow. He can sense when Bill isn’t being entirely truthful, and though the statement seems believable enough there’s an undertone of tension that suggests there’s something more going on than Nancy’s mom taking a fall. 

“Bill,” Holden says, slipping into the office. “Is there something else going on?” 

Bill’s gaze rises from the case file to spill critically over the top of his glasses. “No.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Bill releases a sigh. “Yes.” 

“I’m just asking because …” Holden clears his throat as Bill’s stern glare intensifies. He pushes the door shut behind him. “You came at me pretty hard this morning, and I feel like it was a little unfair.” 

“Unfair.” Bill echoes. “You got us kicked out of Atlanta.” 

“That was politics, and you know it.” 

“Did you not hear a word I said?” Bill asks. He lets his feet drop to the ground, and slaps the case file shut on his desk. “Every city has politics. If we’re going to consult on active cases, you have to take that into account. We represent the FBI. More than that, I do.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“I’m the leader of this unit.” Bill says. “What you do reflects poorly on me.” 

“You’re shitting me.” Holden mutters, clenching his jaw against the wave of frustration building in his chest. 

“No, I am not.” Bill says, “I have seniority. It falls on me to keep this department running properly.” 

“I founded this department the same as you.” Holden says, “And I was just being honest with the commissioner. What good is our work if we’re tip-toeing around politicians, afraid of telling the truth when it comes to investigations?” 

“I’ve been over this. I’m not going to waste my breath trying to explain it to you again.” Bill says, taking a drag of his cigarette. Blowing out a stream of smoke, he waves his hand at the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have some work I’d like to get caught up on so I can go home and see my wife.” 

Holden stares at him for a long moment, disbelief and anger churning in his chest. 

_ My wife.  _ It’s a plain statement of fact, but it enrages Holden. They don’t talk about Nancy when they’re alone. They don’t mention infidelity when Bill’s hand is turning his backside raw or when it’s soothing the battered skin in the aftermath. They have a different type of fidelity, one Holden prefers isn’t interrupted by real world consequences. 

“What is going on with you?” He asks, finally. “Everything was fine before this Atlanta case started. Ever since then you’ve been … distant.” 

Bill sighs, “Look, Holden; I’m sorry, but I cannot be your babysitter behind closed doors  _ and  _ in the field. It’s asking too much.” 

“ _ Babysitter _ ?” Holden says, disgustedly spitting out the word. “Is that what you think we’ve been doing?” 

“I told you to work through it.” Bill says, his gaze cutting away from Holden’s indignant glare. “I told you to get your shit together after Vacaville. I did the best that I fucking could, but I cannot hold your hand every time the pressure gets to be too much.” 

A strangled sound of disbelief pushes against the back of Holden’s tongue, and he bites it down. His throat is hot with shame again, set aflame by Bill for the second time today. He thinks about arguing and saying things he doesn’t mean. He thinks about lashing out, but Bill’s patience is quite obviously thin and trying to be a smartass now might backfire. 

Instead, he gathers his composure and turns to leave with some part of his dignity still intact. His fingers close around the door handle, but Bill’s heavy sigh from behind him makes him pause. 

“Wait.” Bill says. 

Holden closes his eyes, pursing his lips over the sick thrill of joy he gets at hearing the regret in Bill’s voice. 

“That was … uncalled for.” Bill says, quietly. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Holden turns around to face him again. “Yes, it was.” 

Bill rises from his chair, and drops his reading glasses on the desk. His expression is conflicted, familiar need battling behind the frustration in his eyes. 

Holden pushes away from the door, and drops his briefcase and suit jacket onto the chair across from Bill’s desk. 

“Do you want me to stay?” He whispers. 

Bill’s jaw clenches. “Here?” 

“Everybody has left for the day.” Holden says, “We’re alone.” 

“That isn’t a good idea.” 

“You said you wanted to get home to your wife. So we should be quick about it.” 

Bill shakes his head. “No, Holden. I am not fucking you here in this office.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

Bill frowns as Holden reaches up to loosen his tie. He slides it over his head, and drops it to the chair with his jacket and briefcase. Tugging the top button of his shirt open, he wanders around the corner of the desk. 

“Sit down.” He says, softly. 

Bill hesitates, his gaze lingering on the long row of windows across the room that leave the office vulnerable to the smallest glance from the hallway. Anyone walking by could see, but it’s just late enough that the danger is palatable, exhilarating even. 

He sinks to his chair. His gaze clings critically to Holden, not entirely convinced as Holden draws closer. 

When Holden reaches the corner of the desk, he sinks down to his knees. The thin carpeting barely shields his knees from the cement flooring that bites into bone as his weight settles. Bracing his hands on the carpet in front of him, he crawls forward until he’s positioned between Bill’s knees, his location hidden behind the desk from any prying eyes outside the office. 

Bill presses his cigarette to his mouth, and his lips quiver as he takes an unsteady drag. Smoke clouds from his lips, hanging gray and dense in the air as Holden’s hands wander up his shins. 

“You like me this way, don’t you?” Holden whispers, “Down on my knees, submissive?” 

Bill’s gaze cuts away, but Holden glimpses the arousal sparking in his eyes just before they flee. 

“It’s what I deserve, right?” Holden asks, sliding his palms up over Bill’s knees. “For my unprofessional behavior?” 

Bill’s chest lifts with a hitched breath as Holden’s hands quickly travel up his thighs to find the front of his trousers already straining against a pulsing erection. 

Holden rubs the heel of his hand into the throbbing bulge, and Bill closes his eyes, uttering a quiet groan. 

“Go on.” Holden murmurs, “Tell me.” 

Bill glances down at him through a haze of cigarette smoke. The dominant, hungry animal inside him is firmly leashed because they’re at work, but Holden can see it lurching against it’s chain, aching to be set loose. If they were somewhere other than the BSU basement, Holden is certain he would already be stripped down and bent over, his backside bared to whatever vicious punishment is planned out behind the dusky blue clutch of Bill’s eyes. 

“Tell me how bad I am.” Holden presses as he thumbs at the fastening of Bill’s trousers. “Tell me I deserve to be on my knees in front of you all night long.” 

Bill grabs him by the nape of his hair, jolting Holden’s head back with sudden, brutal force. 

Holden gasps as Bill leans over, his breath pouring hot across his flushed cheeks. His fingers are still snagged on Bill’s trousers, but he doesn’t move as Bill kisses him hard. The first push of his lips is bracing and chafing, his teeth scraping across Holden’s trembling lower lip with little gentility or grace. Holden opens his mouth to it, uttering a groan from deep in his chest when Bill’s tongue pushes past his teeth and against the roof of his mouth. 

The kiss ends with a grunt, and Bill’s mouth presses against his temple, breathing hard and pressing saliva into the pounding pulse. 

“Don’t put words in my fucking mouth.” He whispers, the low rasp of his voice scattering shivers down Holden’s spine. “It’s what  _ you _ want.” 

He pulls back, and his thumb is against Holden’s mouth, pushing his lip hard against the edge of his teeth before sliding in against his tongue. 

Holden makes a gagged sound of need as Bill’s thumb pushes to the back of his tongue. 

“You want this.” Bill murmurs, his hooded gaze wandering over Holden’s flushed cheeks and wide, eager eyes. 

_ There he is.  _ Holden thinks. The animal is out of its cage. 

“You cockhungry little slut.” Bill mutters, dragging his thumb free of Holden’s mouth and across his lower lip. 

Holden gasps quietly, leaning into the hard caress of Bill’s thumb making its way across his lower lip and down against his chin, leveraging his jaw open wider. He manages a sound of affirmation though his mouth is too far open to create a proper, verbal reply. It’s enough to make Bill’s eyes spark with need, and his mouth curve in a pleased smile. 

Keeping a firm grasp on Holden’s jaw, Bill leans back just far enough to unzip his pants. As the fabric parts, Holden’s gaze drifts down to glimpse the hard, swollen outline of his cock throbbing against his boxers. 

“Come here.” Bill says, dragging Holden forward. 

He leans back in the chair, and tugs the waistband of his boxers away from his cock. The flesh springs free, hard and pink and pulsing with engorged veins. 

Holden makes an eager sound in the back of his throat, and his hands scramble up Bill’s thighs to drag himself closer. His fingers close around the base of Bill’s cock as Bill guides his head down. He manages to slick his lips with a rapid stroke of his tongue just before Bill’s cock shoves into his mouth. 

Bill’s grip clamps tighter against the back of his neck, and a scraped sound of pleasure rushes from his chest. 

Holden adjusts his mouth around the swollen girth as he goes all the way down, nearly gagging himself in his enthusiasm. Saliva gushes from the back of his throat and his eyes water, but he doesn’t break the eager pace of his sucking. Grasping Bill’s cock with both hands, he lathers the top half with the slick stroke of his lips and tongue. 

“Oh, fuck …” Bill groans from above him, his hips lurching up against the rapid stroking of Holden’s mouth. Gripping Holden’s hair with one hand, he clings to the arm of the chair with the other, his knuckles blanching as arousal is quick to turn to pounding, cresting pleasure. 

Holden pushes closer, ignoring the pang in his knees as they grind into the thin barrier of the carpet. He’s solely focused on Bill’s cock sliding in and out, the way the taste of flesh fills his mouth and floods his brain like an aphrodisiac. He loves the taste of it right before Bill’s comes, when he’s trembling and groaning, his cock writhing in the final throes of arousal, and there’s a hint of salt mixed in with the heady taste of flesh. 

Bill was trying to shame him when he called him a slut, but Holden is hardly embarrassed as he puts his everything into sucking Bill’s cock. He loves the way Bill’s cock ruts desperately into his mouth; he loves the rush he gets from being on his knees, but controlling Bill’s climax absolutely. It’s his little slice of power even if it can be flipped in a second. 

“Fuck … Holden.” Bill pants, his fingers carding desperately through Holden’s hair. “Fuck, that’s good.” 

Holden makes a sound of satisfaction in response, suctioning his cheeks around Bill’s cock when he does so that the vibration goes deep into the flesh. 

Bill groans, tugging at his nape and guiding the pace of Holden’s sucking into a faster rhythm. Holden’s lips are burning with the friction, but the rapid pace lasts a matter of seconds as it quickly pushes Bill over the edge. 

Bill’s hips stiffen beneath Holden as the pleasure rises, powerful and intense. A stammered, choked groan rushes from his chest as the first drops of cum hit the back of his Holden’s tongue, and he quickly silences the sound with the press of his knuckles against his mouth. His hips thrust in jagged bursts against the persistent suction of Holden’s mouth clinging on through the spasms and gushes of release pouring across the back of his tongue.

As the stream of release eases, Holden draws back, and lets Bill’s softening cock slide free of his mouth. He swallows back the cum gathered on the back of his tongue and in the pockets of his cheeks. 

Bill sinks down against the chair, breathing heavily. His gaze shifts downward to watch past heavy eyelids as Holden’s licks his lips appreciatively. 

“Is that what you wanted?” Holden asks, his voice hoarse from the push of Bill’s cock against the back of his throat. “Earlier, when you shouted at me?” 

Bill’s nostrils flare as he draws in a deep breath. “No. I wanted to shout at you.” 

Holden huffs softly, and glances away. “But you feel better, right?” 

“Better?” Bill echoes, “Do you know how risky this was?” 

He’s already shoving his dick back in his boxers, and yanking at the zipper of his pants. 

Holden leans back against his heels, and casts him a petulant glare. “Nobody is here. It’s fine.” 

“Never do that again.” Bill says, his fingers trembling as he buttons his pants. “If someone caught us down here, it would be over for both of us. Do you get that?” 

“Yeah. I do.” Holden says, “But nobody caught us.” 

Before Bill can get up from his chair, Holden grabs onto his calf, and pushes closer. Thrusting his hips forward, he rubs the swollen lump of his erection into Bill’s shin. 

“Feel that?” Holden murmurs, laying his cheek against Bill’s thigh. “I’m so hard for you.” 

“Stop.” Bill says, “I mean it, Holden.” 

Holden pauses his rutting, a scowl returning to his brow. 

“Get off.” Bill says, nudging his knee into Holden’s chest. “Now.” 

Holden leans back on his heels again, watching with mounting disbelief as Bill gets up from his chair, and swings his jacket over his shoulder. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, scrambling to his feet. 

“Home.” Bill says, grabbing his briefcase from the desk, and heading for the door. “That’s where you should be.” 

“We could go somewhere else.” Holden says, “A hotel, maybe. You can do whatever you want with me.” 

“And what do I tell Nancy?” Bill asks, turning to cut him a sharp glare. “Christ, you never think these things through, do you?” 

“I don’t know, Bill.” Holden says, crossing his arms. “I’m not the one cheating on my wife.” 

Silence settles over the office, and Holden can hear some distant hum of a lightbulb short-circuiting. The blood is quick to rush up his throat, horror and panic melding into a dull scream in the back of his mind. 

They don’t talk about Nancy when they’re alone. They just don’t. 

Holden lowers his head, waiting for Bill to lose his temper. 

Instead, Bill yanks the door of the office open, and marches down the hall towards the elevator. 

Holden stands alone in the office for a long moment, the taste of Bill’s cum lingering on his tongue, his cock aching with dissatisfaction. 

By the time he drives himself home and finishes dinner, the need has slacked off into a faint, irritating prickle. Without hearing the order, he knows Bill meant to punish him by leaving him hard and aching, and he thinks about touching himself out of spite. But the urge is gone, lost in the confused tangle of emotion webbing his chest. Somehow, the dull ache between his thighs feels worse than any kind of spanking that’s come before. 

~

The California sun and the distant, gleaming waves of the San Francisco Bay lack any kind of charm or appeal when Bill and Holden return to Vacaville for Manson. It’s the first road trip in a long while that hasn’t ended in a motel room with Holden tied to the headboard or bent over Bill’s knee. 

There’s been a tectonic shift between them, a gradual fracture that started out small and finally split into a gaping hole with the pressure of Brian’s situation bearing down on Bill’s shoulders. Bill shoves down the sense of guilt he feels after the interview blows up, and they walk away with frustration simmering at a low boil between them. 

It’s easy to justify his annoyance because suddenly Holden’s puppydog fascination with Manson and his crazy theories about who was truly responsible for the murders isn’t endearing or even intriguing any longer. They think critically about their subjects, rejecting the mythologies often perpetuated by the media, but this time it’s too much, too fucking far.

Bill is relieved when the interview comes to an end, even further relieved when he gets on the red-eye back to Virginia alone. The stress at home isn’t much better compared to work, but at least when he’s with Nancy, he doesn’t have to mask just how unbearable the pressure is becoming. 

He’s strangely terrified of Holden discovering what happened with Brian. Maybe because Holden would try to profile his son, or maybe because it would force Holden to see him as a husband and father rather than a lover. Maybe because it might puncture an irreparable hole in the little fantasy world they’ve knitted around themselves. 

Bill shoves it all down and commits himself to the political maneuvering Ted expects out of him that weekend when he arrives at the director’s home. The party is filled to the brim with executives and bureaucrats in suits and cocktail dresses. The stench of ladder-climbing and greased palms is thick in the air alongside cigarette smoke and brandy.

As Ted nudges him into dutiful, entertaining storytelling, Bill feels like nothing more than a dressed-up show pony being trotted out in front of critical onlookers. After years with the Bureau, it shouldn’t bother him anymore. This performance is what is expected of him. There’s no shame in it, and they need the continued funding and exposure if they mean to make their approaches policy; but, with the whiskey humming in his veins and the frustration of the past few weeks chafing his nerves raw, Bill can’t ignore the raunchy degradation lurking beneath the fine suits and expensive cigars. These men don’t want justice; they want a good story they can repeat over dinner. 

Though the evening wears later and longer, Bill doesn’t feel like going home. He’s drunk too much whiskey, and he thinks he just needs a half hour or more to get his head on straight again before he attempts getting behind the wheel. 

He finds Holden sitting in a corner by himself, an untouched glass of bourbon cradled in his lap. 

Bill sits down on the sofa beside him with a weary sigh, and spills back against the cushions. 

“Having a good time yet?” He asks, peering at Holden past heavy eyelids. 

“Yeah, amazing. How could you tell?” Holden says, his mouth twitching with a wilted smile. 

Bill mutters a chuckle. “It’s a skill you have to learn, navigating these things.” 

“Apparently, I haven’t learned it yet.” Holden says, “I’m just not good at selling myself, you know.” 

“You’re not selling yourself. You’re selling … a story.” Bill says, “You’re rubbing shoulders, making them think you’re their buddy.” 

“I’m not good at that either.” 

Bill drags his cigarettes from his pocket, and struggles to get one free. His fingers feel thick and tingly, a bad sign that he might not be in any shape to drive home no matter how many minutes he gives himself. 

“Don’t feel too bad.” Bill says, pushing up from the cushions to light his cigarette. “Ted has drafted me to speak at the director’s retreat in a few weeks. It seems like we made the impression he was hoping for. You’re off the hook.” 

“It makes sense that he would ask you.” Holden says, shooting him a sideways glance through the cloud of smoke. “Seeing how you’re the leader of this department.” 

The cigarette dangles from the corner of Bill’s mouth, bleeding smoke into the air as their gazes collide, a silent accusation glinting in the dark blue of Holden’s eyes. In the shadows, they’re like the night sky, the stars tumbling down into ocean waves. 

Bill draws in a hitched breath, and plucks the cigarette from his mouth. Smoke floods his lungs, and he suppresses a cough against the back of his hand. 

“You know, it was Ted who made that insinuation. I shouldn’t have repeated it.” Bill says, focusing on the hardwood floor panels underneath his feet. “I know what you contribute to the unit, and so does he, but …” 

“But what?” 

“He’s a bureaucrat.” Bill says, “He sees every job as a step up the ladder, a chain of command.” 

“And you?” 

“I’m just trying to do what’s expected of me.” Bill says, “Do you think I enjoy being paraded out in front of these people any more than you do? It’s a little like a strip tease. You do what you gotta do, but they’re enjoying it far more than you are.” 

Holden scoffs. “I’ve never seen you like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Letting someone tell you what to do. Pretending to be someone you’re not.” 

“We all do it, Holden.” Bill says, taking a drag of his cigarette. “In one way or another. I don’t have any more control over my life than you do.” 

Holden’s brow flickers with a frown, and Bill thinks he’s implied too much. The whiskey has his tongue loosened up, his inhibitions pliable and easily set aside. Deep inside, he wants to break down and tell Holden everything, just to ease the wound in his eyes and to relieve the weight on his own shoulders. 

Holden finally takes a drink of his bourbon. Bill averts his gaze as it’s immediately drawn to Holden’s throat bobbing against the stiff knot in his tie, and the faint, pink blush that’s quick to rise against the burn of alcohol. 

“You’re good at controlling me.” Holden murmurs, his gaze focused on the amber slosh of bourbon in the bottom of his glass. “No matter what you do to me, I always come back wanting more.” 

Bill presses his cigarette to his mouth. He shouldn’t react. That’s what Holden is looking for - a reaction, no matter how small. 

“We went all the way to California, and you didn’t lay a single finger on me.” Holden continues, drawing in a shaky breath. His gaze shifts up to meet Bill’s. He’s soft and hesitant, playing coy, but Bill knows there’s a manipulation underneath of the fluttering eyelashes and husky whisper. 

“I had to get home.” Bill says, after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Yeah, you have some _ stuff  _ going on.” Holden says, parroting the phrase Bill has used at least three times the past week. 

“Yeah.” Bill mutters, “I couldn’t stay.” 

“Couldn’t? Or didn’t want to?” 

“Couldn’t.” Bill says, lurking irritation rising up to clutch the back of his throat. “Christ, do you have to make everything about you? Have considered that maybe once I might have something more important to attend to than satisfying you?” 

Holden’s petulant gaze shoots over to clash with Bill’s scowl. His nostrils flare, and a muscle ripples along his jawline. 

“It isn’t just that.” He says, “You’ve tried to discredit every theory I had about Manson and the murders. I always try to hear out your ideas, even if I don’t always agree with them.” 

“Please, let’s not drag work into this, too.” Bill says, “Besides, Wendy agreed with you. I thought that might make you happy for once.” 

Holden shakes his head, his jaw working against a hasty retort. Bill almost wishes he would say something smart just to give Bill the excuse to slap him across the mouth. Not here, but somewhere later, in private. 

Bill glances away, rubbing a hand over his forehead to quell the stray thought. 

Holden bolts up from the sofa, and sets his bourbon on the side table. “I need the bathroom.” 

Bill watches him retreat. The daze of alcohol gets to his brain before his logic can, and he scrambles up from the cushions to follow Holden down the hallway to the bathroom. The further they walk from the living room, the quieter and darker the hall gets until the party is nothing more than a distant hum and the shadows a surly, leering invitation to do something utterly stupid. 

Holden stops at the door of the bathroom, his hand gripping the doorframe. Even in the darkness, with whiskey numbing his brain, Bill can glimpse the shudder running through his fingers. 

“Why are you following me, Bill?” He murmurs, shooting a hooded glance over his shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

"Nothing you aren't already weaseling out of me." Bill says. 

Holden makes a little, disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. "I'm not making you do anything." 

Bill clenches his hands into fists at his sides, squeezing back the urgency flooding his already humming veins. He thinks for a moment that someone could have seen them disappear down the hallway together, and he's a fucking hypocrite for thinking about doing something risky when he had admonished Holden for doing the same thing only three weeks prior. Then Holden lowers his head and utters a quiet, impatient sigh that's just a little too close to a whimper, and Bill loses all sight of his restraint. 

Crowding up behind Holden, Bill grasps his hips, and shoves them into the bathroom. As they stumble inside, Bill knocks the door shut behind them. Total darkness settles, and Bill can only hear Holden's heavy panting and feel his hands tugging at the lapels of his jacket. 

Bill bends down to push a kiss against Holden's mouth, sloppily colliding with his cheek before Holden tilts his head back to connect their mouths. His breath rushes hot and desperate against Bill's hungrily stroking lips, muttering needy whimpers in between the slick presses of his tongue.

Bill shoves Holden back into the wall, and pins him with both hands on his jaw. The little details of his skin and the faint scratch of stubble come into clear focus without a light to see by. Holden's mouth tastes sweeter now than ever before with three weeks of empty frustration standing between them. The simple shudder of his lips opening up to Bill's viscous kiss is a satisfaction all it's own, a strain of lush submission that sets a fire deep on Bill's stomach. 

Bill pulls back as a dizzying wave of need hits him. Clutching Holden's cheeks, he lowers his head, trying vainly to clear it. 

Holden's breath gusts hotly against Bill's nose and cheeks. 

"I didn't touch myself after…" His voice is warped and thready in the darkness. "After that night in your office. I haven't come since the last time we-" 

"Fuck. Stop." Bill whispers, rubbing his thumb over Holden's cheek. 

"I'm so hard right now it hurts." Holden presses, melding a whimper into the last few syllables. "That turns you on, doesn't it?" 

Bill squeezes his eyes shut. He's drunk and stupid and now he's throbbing to the tempo of Holden's husky whispers. Leaving at this point seems impossible. 

"Yeah." He whispers, shifting closer to Holden. He lets one hand drift from Holden's cheek, down his chest and belly to his groin.

Holden lurches against Bill's grip on his cheek, and makes a strangled sound of need as Bill's hand grasps his erection through his trousers. 

"Fuck." Bill mutters, pressing his mouth to Holden's temple as he feels the desperate pulse running through Holden's cock. The layers of fabric can't mask the need roiling through his groin. "You weren't lying." 

"No." Holden whimpers, shifting his hips against Bill's grasp. "Bill, please." 

Bill runs his palm up and down the throbbing bulge of Holden's dick, wringing a few more pathetic whines from Holden's throat before he pauses to unbuckle his belt. 

Holden sighs eagerly as the zipper slides down, easing the pressure on his writhing cock. 

"Yes, yes." He pants, softly, clutching at Bill's shoulders. 

Bill pushes the trouser aside to touch Holden through the cotton of his briefs. He can get a firm grip around the shaft even with the fabric still in the way, and Holden seems content enough just to have Bill's hands on him. He hangs onto Bill's shoulders, biting back choked sounds of need that echo louder against bathroom tile and the hovering risk of getting caught, but his hips thrust eagerly into the stroke of Bill's hand. 

Crowding closer, Bill drags his mouth down Holden's temple and against his ear. 

“Three weeks, hm?” He murmurs, doling out the caresses in gradual, aching strokes.

“Yes.” Holden groans. 

“But you thought about, right?” 

“Of course.” Holden says, gulping back a choked whimper. “Every night. It was hard not to, but …” 

His voice trails off into a tortured groan as Bill reaches down to push his fingers underneath the swell of his balls. The heel of his hand grinds into the hard shaft, and he feels Holden’s cock jolt with need. 

“Fuck … Bill.” He gasps, a tremble rippling through him. 

“Can’t say I’m not impressed.” Bill mutters, nudging his mouth under Holden’s ear and against the tender spot just behind it. 

Holden shivers against the lingering, wet kiss. His muted groan is strained with pleasure, both from Bill’s hand against him and the praise. Bill feels him swell a bit more in his hand, the scattered pulse vibrating through him ramping up into the final throes of arousal just before orgasm crests. 

“Well, you’re going to come for me now.” Bill says, working his hand harder over Holden’s cock, creating hot friction with pressure and cotton. “All over yourself.” 

Holden moans, his head dropping down to push his forehead into Bill’s throat. His body stiffens, and his panting tapers off into hitched, held breaths of anticipation. The bathroom quiets down, and all Bill can hear the faint scratch of Holden’s briefs sliding over aching skin, and his own raspy breaths. 

The silence holds for less than a minute before Holden’s body lurches into him, and he buries his strangled cry of pleasure in Bill’s neck. He begins to tremble as the spasms roll through him, wringing whimpers from his chest directly into Bill’s skin. 

Bill keeps rubbing, biting back his own sound of satisfaction when he feels the wet heat of release blooming beneath the fabric. The slick gush of Holden’s cum is quick to soak into the thin cotton, leaking just a little bit of moisture through into Bill’s palm. By the time Holden stops shaking and moaning against him, the front of the briefs are thoroughly damp and sliding easily over Holden’s wilting cock beneath the persistent press of Bill’s hand. 

Bill eases his hand away, and takes a staggered step backwards. He reaches back a hand to search for the counter. His head is faintly spinning with need and the darkness, and he feels close to losing any kind of control. Finding the counter in the shadows, he pats along the marble edge until his fingers bump into the wall, and he finds his way to the lightswitch. 

Bright, yellow light floods the bathroom. Bill blinks against the sudden illumination before Holden’s image clears in front of him. 

He’s leaning back against the wall, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed pink. The wet stain spreading across the front of his briefs is blatantly apparent. 

Bill clenches his jaw as the visual aids the need pounding between his legs. 

Holden pushes away from the wall, and edges closer. He watches Bill closely, gauging honesty between drunkenness and irritation.

“I don’t think either of us can go back to the party like this.” He says. 

Bill grips the edge of the sink as Holden draws closer, reaching out a suggestive hand. His cock is prickling angrily with ignored needs, and the thought of Holden touching him is too good to deny. 

“Get down.” Bill says, nodding at the tiled floor. “On your knees.” 

Holden’s cheeks flush deeper pink, and lips part softly. After weeks of negative friction, he’d expected Bill to put up a fight. There’s no hesitation as he sinks to his knees in front of Bill, and tugs at the fastening of his trousers. 

Bill closes his eyes as Holden unzips his pants, and peels his boxers away from his throbbing cock. Behind his eyelids, his head swims with alcohol and surging desires, and all he can focus on is keeping his knees from collapsing out from under him. 

Hot breath wanders across his aching skin followed by the gentle graze of Holden’s fingertips. 

Bill sucks in a breath, and reaches down to grasp Holden’s hair. Holden resists for barely a second before letting Bill’s fist lead him forward. His mouth is wet and panting as it takes Bill’s cock in, sealing velvet-soft heat around the throbbing shaft. 

“Fuck-” The curse chokes past Bill’s lips before he reminds himself where they are, and silences the crowding groans behind his clamped jaw. 

Cracking his eyelids open, Bill peers tentatively downward to see Holden’s mouth sliding up and down the length of his cock. His pink lips are stretched around the thick flesh and gleaming with saliva. His cheeks hollow with every stroke, suctioning taut around Bill’s cock to push pleasure hard towards the brink. 

Leaning hard into the counter, Bill tears his gaze away from the arousing sight of Holden’s mouth riding his dick. He adjusts his grip on Holden’s hair, and drags his mouth into a faster pace. Untethered by alcohol, the needs are quick to tumble towards the tingling grip of orgasm. Bill doesn’t try to stop the rapid pace of pleasure rising up his groin and belly, wanting more than anything to reach release so that he can get the hell out of this party, away from Holden, and the dangerous possibility of breaking down entirely. 

His gaze spills downward again, wayward in its need to watch Holden sucking his cock. He gasps in a breath as Holden’s eyes slide open to peer back, casting waves of heady satisfaction back at him. The gaze clings on through the next few rapid strokes of his mouth that push Bill right up to the edge of pleasure. 

Bill’s eyes slam shut over the intoxicating image as orgasm rushes at him, hitting hard in a wave of gripping tingles through his chest and belly. He clings to the marble lip of the counter as the shudders ripple down his body, threatening to topple the last of his strength keeping him upright. He grips Holden’s hair with the other hand, but Holden’s head moves of his own accord, managing to keep the stroke of his mouth even and persistent while Bill’s cock spills cum across his tongue. 

As the pleasure eases, Bill disentangles his fingers from Holden’s hair, and staggers away from him. 

Holden drags himself to his feet, and bends over the sink to spit into the drain. The sound of the tap water turning on breaks the thick silence. 

Bill fumbles to get his pants fastened again. He peeks a discreet gaze up at the mirror, glimpsing Holden’s reflection as he rinses his mouth with water. 

Holden straightens, catching Bill’s eyes in the mirror. 

“Do you want me to drive you home?” He asks, softly. 

“No, I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” 

Holden’s gaze drifts away, and he leans against the sink, letting out a quiet sigh. “We have Bateson next week.” 

Bill nods. “Yeah.” 

“When we go, is it going to be like California?” 

“I don’t know, Holden.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“I’m too drunk for this.” Bill says, “I should get home. So should you, unless you want to go back to the party with cum in your underwear.” 

Holden shoots him a derisive glance in the mirror. “Yeah, thanks for that.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Bill yanks the door open, and the sound of distant conversation and cheerful piano music seeps into the hollow vacuum stretching out between them. 

“Bill.” Holden’s whisper makes him pause. 

“Yeah?” 

“I hope you know, whatever is going on - you could tell me.” Holden says, and Bill can feel his gaze bearing down against the back of his head. “We’re more than just …  _ this _ .” 

Bill closes his eyes, suppressing the urge to turn around and spill his guts just like he did with Wendy; but he can already imagine how the conversation would go. Too many questions, too many consequences. 

Without answering, he shuffles out of the bathroom, and makes his way slowly yet steadily down the hallway. He heads straight for the front door, wanting little more to do with the night’s proceedings. By the time he makes it to his car, his head has stopped spinning just enough to make the thought of driving home manageable. He lights a cigarette, and pulls away from Ted’s house, his foot heavy on the accelerator, putting as much distance between him and this night as quickly as he can. 


	2. Chapter 2

When the FBI is officially ordered to return to Atlanta, Holden feels a twinge of vindication that’s only half as potent as it would have been if Bill hadn’t still been in such a stubborn, angry mood. The dark cloud that followed them from Atlanta the first time has yet to lift, and if Holden isn’t mistaken, has gotten much heavier. 

He doesn’t ask about Nancy’s mom and her supposed “fall” again, but he’s getting the sense that she had never been injured in the first place. As the first few weeks of the Atlanta investigation unfold, and Bill’s absences from the case grow more frequent and cadenced, Holden’s doubts turn into fully-evolved suspicions; and despite the number of times he tries gently to bring it up, Bill shuts him down with brief, clipped answers and a warning glare. 

The long hours of the investigation are beginning to wear on Holden, but he has a dreadful feeling after the incorrect arrest of the plumber that the case is far from over. He tells himself that he can handle the stress of the case, but deep inside, he knows the restless anxiety in his chest is more directly linked to Bill than to the dead kids. He’s certain of his profile - more certain of a strange face in the dark than he is of his own lover’s feelings. 

The Monday after they arrested and released Yarborough, Holden is slouched in the armchair in his hotel room, watching the news coverage of the case on television. He had spent most of the last few days scrambling to arrange the crosses for the memorial in time, and he should be exhausted. He should be in bed right now; instead, he’s awake, counting days. 

It’s been three weeks since that night at Ted’s party. Six since the encounter in Bill’s office, and even longer since the last time they had sex. Nearly two months since they touched each other in a way that ended in penetration, or any kind of real satisfaction beyond the superficial, physical release. Those moments in Bill’s office and at the party were more of a mistake than anything else.  _ He never thinks these things through.  _

Try as he might, he can’t find any reason why he should be to blame for the lapse in intimacy. He can trace the discord back to their first trip to Atlanta, but he knows Bill well enough to pin-point the exact moment when the switch flipped. It was the phone call from Nancy that sent him high-tailing it back to Virginia. His mother-in-law’s “fall.” Something’s wrong at home, something that Bill is unwilling to share; but Holden is good at getting people to talk, and maybe he just hasn’t tried the right tactic yet. 

Swiping the remote, he shuts off the TV. The room plunges into a silence so dense that he can hear the groan and shift of his own thoughts prodding him towards yet another mistake. Pushing aside his nerves, Holden gets up from the chair, and shuffles to the door. He slips out into the vacant hallway. Bill’s room is a short distance down the hallway, and no one else in the hotel is awake to see him tip-toeing stocking foot through the corridors. 

When he reaches Bill’s room, Holden draws in a deep breath before lifting his fist to knock. The first tap of his knuckles is greeted by silence, and he knocks harder, four times with his fist so that the sound is unmistakable. 

A few moments later, the knob turns, and Bill pulls the door open a crack. 

“Holden.” He says, scowling against the light spilling into the darkened room from the hall. “What are you doing? It’s almost midnight.” 

“Can I come in?” 

Bill sighs. “Why?” 

“Because. I think we need to talk.” 

“About what? Can’t this wait until the morning?” 

“No. It’s not about the case.” 

Bill pauses from rubbing a hand over his sleep-weary eyes. His jaw clenches for a moment before he nods. Holding the door open wider, he stands aside to let Holden into the room. 

Holden wanders inside, and shoves his hands into his pockets to hide the nervous tremble working its way down into his fingers. 

Bill lets the door fall shut behind him, and turns on the bedside lamp. 

“Okay.” He says, spreading his hands. “What is it that was so pressing you had to get me out of bed at twelve o’clock at night?” 

“You.” Holden says, turning fully to face the cutting glare in Bill’s eyes. 

“Me?” Bill echoes. 

“And us.” Holden says, “I’ve just been wracking my brain, trying to come up with a plausible explanation.” 

A flicker of fear ignites in Bill’s eyes, but he looks away before Holden can latch onto it. “Holden …” He begins, sounding like he’s about to give a lecture, but gives up on it as Holden’s name melds into a heavy sigh. 

“It’s been three weeks.” Holden says, “Since that night at Ted’s party.” 

Bill’s hands brace against his hips. Holden can tell he’s trying to come up with a retort, something to scare off the threat of this conversation. 

“Three weeks since you touched me.” Holden says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I just … I don’t want to make it four.” 

“We’re in the middle of an investigation.” Bill says, his gaze lifting from the carpet, steely this time. “This is what you’re worried about?” 

“Yes.” Holden says, “I mean, I’m worried about the case too, but … Bill, we have to go home after this.” 

“Yeah, we do.” Bill says, “And I have a lot going on right now, so I’m sorry I haven’t been attentive enough for you.” 

“A lot going on? What?” Holden asks, struggling to tamp down the frustration rising in his chest. “Why won’t you tell me?” 

“Because, it’s none of your business.” Bill says, “We’re coworkers. We sleep together sometimes. You are not entitled to know every detail of my life, especially as it pertains to my family.” 

“ _ Sometimes _ ?” Holden echoes, disbelief pouring into the syllables. “Jesus Christ, Bill. Before all this started, it wasn’t sometimes. It was every week, sometimes more than once a week.” 

“And maybe that was a mistake.” Bill says, “I can see that now, since you throw a fit the second you don’t get exactly what you want out of me.” 

“Throwing a fit. Are you shitting me? I think I’m justifiably upset here.” Holden says, spreading his hands. 

“You’re not the only person I have to answer to, okay?” Bill says, “I have Ted, Nancy, my son-”

“Is that what this is about? You’ve suddenly developed a conscience?” 

The hotel room plunges into silence. Bill’s eyes are telegraphing rage across the room, but he stands utterly still, his hands curled into fists at his sides. 

Holden draws in a shaky breath, waiting for the moment to implode. They haven’t argued like this in awhile, and never while they were sleeping together. He’s not sure what to expect. Bill can hurt him when it’s just sex, but what about when he’s truly angry and he hasn’t touched Holden like that in over a month? 

Finally, Bill sighs, sounding tired rather than angry. 

“I just don’t know if I can do this right now.” He says, “This case is wearing us both thin.” 

“So, what are you saying?” Holden whispers, “It’s over until we go home?” 

“Maybe that’s the way it needs to be.” Bill says, his brow furrowing into a pained scowl. “I can’t promise you something that I don’t know if I can deliver.” 

Holden draws in a sharp breath against the emotion crowding the back of his throat. He’d gotten dependant on Bill’s touch, addicted to it even. Not just the sex, but the pain and punishments and the tenderness that comes after, all the ways that Bill knows how to satisfy him that no one else will ever be able to acheive. 

Bill turns to grab the doorknob, indicating the conversation is over. 

Rushing across the room, Holden plants his hand in the middle of the door, and pushes it shut again. 

“No.” He says, leaning into the door as Bill glares down at him with a mix of frustration and yearning. 

“No?” 

“No.” Holden says, “I’m not taking that as an answer.” 

“Holden-”

“No, it’s fine, Bill. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on at home. I can live with that. We don’t even have to sleep in the same bed, or stay together after … I just- … I want you the way it was before.” The words come tumbling out quickly, desperately, and Holden slows as bare honesty bleeds past this last-ditch attempt at centering Bill’s attention back on him, “I want you to hurt me.” 

Bill takes a shuffled step back from the door, his brow furrowing. 

“I don't expect commitments. I never did.” Holden whispers.

Bill swallows hard as Holden pushes away from the door, and tugs his shirt back from his shoulders. The garment falls to the ground, and he lifts his arms to remove the undershirt as well. 

“That night in your office, you left things unfinished.” Holden says, his hands dropping to unbuckle his belt. “You didn’t punish me, Bill; not for getting us kicked out of this investigation, not for the risk of blowing you right then and there.” 

Bill’s jaw clenches. “Is that really what you want right now?” 

“Yes.” Holden whispers, tugging the belt free of the loops. “Isn’t it what you want?” 

As he shifts closer, Bill’s nostrils flare with a deep breath. He lowers his head, and Holden catches his mouth in a kiss. As their lips tangle in a desperate, gasping embrace, Holden pushes the belt into Bill’s hands. 

Bill’s mouth comes to a halt against his lips, and Holden hears him draw in a halting breath. “Holden-”

Holden takes a step back, leaving the belt dangling in Bill’s hands. 

“Your hand hurts.” Holden whispers, reaching down to unzip his trousers. “But, I think I deserve more than that.” 

Bill’s fingers curl around the belt buckle, and even in the dark, Holden can see his knuckles blanching. 

Holden hooks his thumbs under his trousers and the waistband of his briefs, taking them both down in the same motion. Kicking them from his ankles, he straightens to expose how hard he already is at the thought of the pain lancing across his backside. He lowers a tentative hand to touch himself, urging the need to firm, pulsing erection with a few soft strokes. 

“Stop.” Bill says, taking a clipped step closer. 

Holden freezes. Nerves break past the need swelling in his belly, and he wonders if he read Bill wrong. 

But, Bill repeats the command, and swats Holden’s hand from his cock. “Stop touching yourself.” 

Holden curls his hand into a fist at his side. A wave of need courses down his spine, settling into an intense hum of arousal deep in his core. 

“You’ll come after.” Bill says, shifting so close now that Holden feels the heat of his breath. “Now, go lean over the bed.” 

Their gazes hold for a moment, and Holden can feel them wandering into untested waters. Perhaps this moment - rife with tension and frustration bleeding over from home and the case - wasn’t the right moment to push this request; but Holden can’t find the urge to care or the nerves to second-guess. His limbs are already weak and trembling at the thought of Bill wielding the belt over his bare skin, the resulting pain, the ache of powerful arousal. He can’t take it back now. 

Holden shuffles across the carpet to the bed. His heart thuds in his ears, taking up the brief moments of silence with the sound of desperate, clawing need tearing his insides raw. When he reaches the bed, he hesitates for a moment before leaning over to plant his elbows in the mattress. Casting a glance past his shoulder, he sees Bill walking towards him, the belt dangling from his fist. 

Holden presses his eyes shut, and draws in a steadying breath. Every inch of him is already throbbing, caramelized need churning through his insides like thick honey.

Bill’s palm brushes against his lower back, and Holden flinches, gasping in an anticipatory breath. 

“How badly do you want this to hurt?” Bill asks, the low rasp of his voice raking like hot coals down Holden’s spine. 

“Just do it, Bill.” Holden whispers, trying desperately to shove the tremble from his voice. “I can take it.” 

“We’ll start with ten; and you tell me if it’s too much before then.” 

_ Ten.  _ The number is even and round and powerful in Holden’s mind. It’s nothing compared to some of the sessions he’s endured at Bill’s hand, but this is different. It’s going to hurt worse than anything he’s ever experienced, but that thought doesn't scare him; it bursts across his tongue like a fresh, juicy peach, impossibly sweet in a way that leaves him yearning for more. 

“Okay.” He whispers, the word choking from the back of his throat with less confidence than he’d intended. “I’m ready.” 

Bill’s palm settles firmly against his lower back, bracing him in position. 

The first touch of the belt is gentle as it grazes across his skin, attuning him to the sensation of it. He shudders, biting back a moan that’s quick to jump to his throat. Shifting impatiently, he shoots a glance past his shoulder to see Bill’s gaze intently focused on his backside where the belt is dragging in slow circles across his skin. 

Holden draws in a hitched breath when the faint brush of the belt ceases. His skin is tingling from the light sensation and blazing with anticipation. Every muscle is drawn taut, and he can hardly breathe. A low hum grows in his ears, the sound of impatient need building to a roar. 

There’s the muted sound of the belt buckle rattling just before Holden hears the  _ whoosh  _ of the belt cutting through the air. The leather cracks across his skin, and for a moment, the resulting pain is delayed by resounding shock. Holden gasps in a breath as the pain shifts from cold to hot and back again before sinking in like a thousand tiny needles piercing to the bone. 

“Oh … oh.” The stammered sound jolts from Holden’s throat as he blinks, trying to process the cutting pain humming hotly across his skin. 

Before he can wrap his mind around the intensity of it, the belt strikes again. 

Holden lurches into the mattress, muffling a cry into the sheets. The burning pain intensifies, rolling in waves down his body. He can feel the two individuals stripes of skin where the belt landed throbbing back and forth, so hot as if they might catch flame. 

Bill pauses just long enough for Holden to catch his breath before whipping the leather across his skin again. 

“Oh, fuck.” Holden whimpers, muffling the strangled curse in a handful of the sheets.  _ One, two, three.  _ The thought pounds across the back of his mind so far from nice, round ten that he’d claimed he could handle. 

The sound of the belt whistling through the air cuts past the swimming daze of pain in Holden’s head, alerting him just before the sensation shatters across his skin. A long, strangled cry erupts from his chest as his body revolts against the sheets, twisting violently away from the brutal kiss of leather. 

Bill’s firm hand is against his back, grounding him, forcing him back into prone compliance. 

Holden lifts his mouth from the sheets to suck in a gasping breath. He’s half-dizzy from not breathing, from the pain, and from the exhilaration flooding his blood stream. Every inch of him feels excruciatingly alive, the blood in his veins singing, his skin prickling down his neck and spine, his backside throbbing and burning on a level he has never pushed himself to before. 

Bill strikes with the belt, and that’s five. The number etches itself across his deliriously swimming brain, and Holden lurches and groans a pained sound into the sheets. Pressing his forehead to the mattress, he shoves back the prick of tears at the corners of his eyes. 

There’s a tense, aching pause before the next one comes. Holden sobs into the sheets as the lashing layers over already smarting skin, and he can’t stop the trembling writhe of hips instinctively trying to escape the lick of the belt. 

The pace quickens, leaving little room for breathing, but just enough for choked sobs in between the strikes. The sound of leather cracking across skin echoes across Holden’s racing mind where the pain is blurring into a melted burn of raw, twisted desires, and somewhere deep in his chest, he’s screaming for Bill to break him. 

Bill’s hand adjusts against his back, allowing a few seconds reprieve; Holden’s wildly careening thoughts of incoherent pain and pleasure trip over themselves in the lapse, and for a panicked moment, he realizes he’s lost count and he doesn’t know which way is up or down, or when it will be over, or if he should beg Bill to stop, or cry out for ten more. His feet have collapsed from underneath him, and he’s hanging over the edge of the mattress, his whole body trembling helplessly with gasping, tear-choked breaths; but his cock is rock hard underneath of him, stubborn in that self-destructive and masochistic way that lead him to this point in the first place. 

Before Holden can scrape together a plea, the silence shatters with another furious lashing. Unprepared, Holden lurches against the mattress, gasping in shock. The stinging pain goes numb for half a second before setting in and shoving a tear free from his eyelashes. 

Bill’s palm slides up to grip his heaving shoulder, and Holden can feel the tremble of adrenaline and need rippling down his arm. 

“You had enough?” Bill whispers, hoarsely. 

Holden blinks against the lingering haze of pain and arousal wreathing his brain. He feels himself nodding, but everything except for the throbbing hum pulsing across his backside seems far away and surreal.

Holden hears the belt buckle thud into the carpet, followed by Bill’s heavy sigh. 

“Are you okay?”

Holden swallows hard, measuring his reply before verbalizing it. “Yes.” 

Bill’s grip slides down around Holden’s bicep, and lifts him from the sheets. As Holden staggers into his chest, Bill’s palms grip his cheeks, thumbs smoothing away the tears trickling from the corners of his eyes. His tired gaze of threadbare need is blurry for a moment before the haze in Holden’s eyes clears, and he blinks up through the darkness to glimpse the interlocked frustration and desire etching itself across Bill’s face. 

There’s a stretch of silence, and Holden waits for Bill to speak - to rage, to demand, to condemn; but there’s only the quiet shudder of their breaths, and Holden’s muted sniffles. There’s only Bill gazing back at him, as implicated in the thrill of pleasure and pain as Holden, quietly yearning in a way that’s gradually ripping open his threadbare seams. 

Holden closes his eyes as Bill guides his trembling mouth up into a kiss. As their mouths meet, he sighs from deep in his chest, the knotted anxiety melting away until he feels the relieved exhale through his whole body. He opens his mouth to the slick press of Bill’s lips, but the kiss lingers for only a moment before shifting across the corner of his mouth and cheek. Bill’s mouth makes its way through the narrow, wet path of his tears, across his temple, and down against his ear. A wave of tingles courses down his spine at the soft gust of Bill’s breath wandering over his earlobe and down the tender part of his neck nestled below his jaw. 

“I want you to go to my suitcase.” Bill whispers, his voice a low, gravelly hiss that vibrates against Holden’s ear. “The Vaseline is in there.” 

Holden shudders in his embrace, nodding before the command concludes. 

“It’s going to be slow, and deep, and hard.” Bill’s fingers tighten around his jaw as the words tumble down Holden’s ear, across his senses, igniting deep, aching need in his belly. “You won’t be able to sit or walk a straight line tomorrow, hmm?” 

Holden nods again, biting back an eager whimper. “Yes. Please.” 

“Go.” 

Bill releases him, and Holden staggers across the room to where Bill’s suitcase is lying in the corner. His hands are shaking as he kneels down to paw through the piles of clothes to find the jar sitting in the bottom corner. He can’t think straight with his backside still throbbing from the beating and his mind melting with need at all of Bill’s whispered promises, but he has enough sense to be joyful at the thought that Bill had even packed the Vaseline after the last few weeks. 

Clutching the jar in his shivering hand, Holden climbs to his feet, and limps back to Bill. 

Bill has stripped out of his underwear, and he’s already hard, cock throbbing against his belly as he drags Holden back into his embrace. 

Holden leans into Bill’s chest as Bill smothers him with a hungry, stroking kiss. He opens his mouth, eagerly letting Bill’s tongue invade him, and moans against the wet press of it thoroughly tasting him. He’s breathless and panting when Bill pulls back, and turns him around to face the bed. 

Holden crawls onto the mattress, and collapses down against the sheets with a sigh. His brain has crawled into a foggy daze of pain and need, a familiar dimension of weak compliance in which he’ll let Bill do just about anything to him. It’s a stark relief to sink facedown into the bed with Bill’s hands on him, commanding him, having their way with him, and any kind of control or obstinance he’s clung to beyond these four walls melts away into nothing. 

In the space of a few, delirious moments, Bill’s wet fingers are up against him, rubbing firmly yet gently against his hole. The slick, sweet friction collides with the languishing hum of pain, the two of them amalgamating into something close to agonizing arousal. Holden thrusts his hips into the sheets, getting faint satisfaction from the pressure against his cock while Bill’s fingers slowly, gradually climb inside of him. 

Holden gasps into the sheets as first one, then two penetrate him, thrusting lazily down against the melting tension of Holden’s muscles slowly giving way into gaping acceptance. He’s already broken open and weak from the belt, offering little resistance to the mounting, aching pressure grinding down against him, narrowly avoiding his prostate with every caress. 

His hips rise from the sheets as an urgency cuts through his middle, clamping down on his cock like a hot fist. Eyes hazy with need, he shoots a half-shut gaze over his shoulder to see Bill kneeling behind him, focused on the steady thrust of his hand working him open. 

Holden’s back arches and shudders through the next few thrusts, and stiffens against empty air when Bill’s fingers retreat. He aches and twitches as Bill takes his time applying more Vaseline and lathering his own cock in the lubricant. A needy moan splits Holden’s lips apart, and he muffles it in the sheets, corralling the desperation beginning to steadily gnaw away at his insides. Bill had promised him long and hard, and the waiting and yearning is far from over; Bill won’t let him come until he’s thoroughly worked over, his backside raw inside and out, and he’s begging for the end. 

The agonized thought briefly collapses as Bill’s cock pushes against him. The hot, blunt flesh pierces him slowly; careful, grinding thrusts work Bill’s cock into him, going halfway in and out so many times until he’s submerged, his hips seated hard and trembling against the welts striping Holden’s ass.

“Oh, fuck.” Holden moans, grasping at the sheets. His nails slide along the silky fabric until he curls his hands into fists, drawing a handful against his gasping mouth. 

Bill rocks deliberately against him, causing the muted slap of slick skin to echo through the room. He grasps Holden’s hips, and guides him up into the resolute pressure, grunting a sound of satisfaction when Holden shudders beneath the deep thrusts. 

Holden pushes eagerly into Bill’s grasp, leaning into whatever Bill wants out of him. The deep vibration of his cock going in to the hilt each time triggers a groan at the back of Holden’s throat, until he’s matching the rhythmic slap of Bill’s hips against him with repeated, gasping whimpers. The faint pang that goes through his backside with every collision only aids the arousal coiling tightly through his belly and chest, painting his utter submission across the pleasure writhing in his mind. 

The pace of Bill’s thrusting hastens, driving his cock deeper, harder. Holden shoves back into it, whining when the tip hits so deep that he feels it reverberating through his belly. 

“Fuck, yes.” Holden gasps, dragging his knees under himself to leverage back against the steady pounding. 

Bill grabs onto a handful of his hair, yanking his head back from the sheets. Holden leans back into the tugging, moaning loudly at the ripple of needling pain that washes down his scalp and the back of his neck. 

“Yes, Bill. Oh fuck, yes.” Holden pants, squeezing his eyes shut as the thrusting turns brutal, slamming so hard into him that the bed springs protest and his whole body arches with a thrill of shock and pleasure. 

For a moment, he wonders if Bill’s promise will get lost in the desperation of six empty weeks without this, if it’ll all be over in a matter of minutes because he’s too drowned in pleasure for self-control; but the hammering thrusts last only a few seconds longer before Bill grinds to a stop against him. 

Holden gasps and shudders as Bill’s mouth brands his bare shoulder with a breathless kiss. The hot gust of his breath surges down Holden’s sweat-lined spine as he rests there for a moment, his cock lodged deep inside of Holden. Holden moans and wiggles, feeling Bill throbbing inside him, swollen veins writhing against the aching bud of his prostate. 

“Please ..” He whimpers, “Don’t stop.” 

Bill pulls out of him suddenly, and Holden gasps at the sudden empty void inside him. Before he can protest, Bill turns him over onto his back, and crowds between Holden’s limp thighs. 

Grasping the underside of his knees, Bill guides Holden's heels up against his shoulders. He nearly folds Holden in half underneath of him as he leans forward to slide his cock back in. 

Holden’s mouth stretches open on the first deep thrust, but only a quiet gasp emerges. His fingers scramble across the sheets to cling onto something grounding as Bill resumes thrusting into him from this new position, and it feels like his cock is reaching to the depths of Holden’s body, touching him in tender, aching places that have never felt this glorious friction before. 

Bill grunts from above him, a strangled sound of pleasure that brings Holden’s squeezed eyelids open. He peers up past fluttering eyelashes to glimpse Bill laboring above him, his gaze fixed on Holden’s open, gasping mouth and flushed cheeks. Sweat drips down his temples and shines on his chest as he ramps up the pace of his thrusting. 

“Oh God!” Holden cries, his heels revolting against Bill’s shoulders as the next few blows of Bill’s hips nearly split him open. 

He claws at the sheets, trying desperately to brace himself as a hazy mix of pain and pleasure grips him. His cock is painfully hard, and he can feel the teasing hint of tingles swirling through his belly, just beyond his reach. 

Holden fumbles for his cock with trembling fingers, desperate to ease just some part of need tearing through him. 

Just before his fingers can reach their destination, Bill catches him by the wrist. He finds Holden’s other hand tangled up the sheets, and pushes both arms over his head to pin his wrists into the mattress. 

Holden twists under the weight of Bill’s body bearing down on top of him. With his feet up over Bill’s shoulders, there’s little room to negotiate his positioning or to even return the rhythm of Bill’s thrusting. He’s pinned and helpless, his backside taking every powerful blow of Bill’s cock going to his depths, turning him inside out and quivering with the force of it. 

“Please, please …” Holden hears his own pathetic whimpering before he can realize he’s saying the word, gasping it over and over in fevered desperation. 

His wrists bolt up against Bill’s weight, but any kind of leverage he’d hoped to attain is neutralized. Bill’s fists tighten around his wrists, cutting off what little blood supply hasn’t thoroughly rushed south. He can feel his cock throbbing and aching, and he would gladly let Bill fuck him like this all night if he could only come, once or twice, or whatever Bill is willing to give him. 

Bill’s thrusting lets up abruptly, and Holden gasps in a breath as he leans back on his heels. 

Holden’s feet slide from his shoulders, and he clutches at his wrist, which feels as if it’s sustained a bruise that might be hard to hide tomorrow. He peeks up at Bill, trying to measure his breathing to not sound so absolutely wrecked and pushed to the edge of sanity. It’s difficult to appear unfazed when his head is spinning, and every inch of him is trembling and echoing with the repeated blows of leather and flesh. 

Bill hovers over him, his chest falling up and down with labored breaths. Perspiration trickles down his neck and breastbone, making him gleam in the yellow lamplight. He catches Holden by the elbow, and hauls him upright. 

Holden leans forward, searching for a kiss or any kind of gentility, but Bill nods toward the headboard. 

“Get on your hands and knees.” He says, the raspy command fractured by heavy breaths. 

Holden nods, and scrambles across the sheets. Kneeling in front of the headboard, he braces one hand in the sheets and the other on the solid wood of the bedframe. Casting a fervid glance over his shoulder, he bites back a moan at the sight of Bill crawling up behind him. 

There’s an animal hunger in his eyes, the kind that makes Holden’s insides melt, the kind that tips their relationship past something superficial into something biting and visceral and inescapable. It’s a particular kind of ownership when Bill touches him, fucks him, hits him, and he can’t help but breathe it in despite the danger; a bit like the secondhand smoke he inhales when they’re on the road or lying in a post-sex embrace and Bill just has to have his cigarette. One day, this fine line might sharpen into a razor blade; one day, it might hurt him, really, truly, but this ache and throb that’s burning through him right now, begging for Bill to break him in every way possible, isn’t a void he can fill with anything else. 

Holden moans his pleasure as Bill pushes his cock back inside. Gripping the headboard, he hangs on as the hammering thrusts resume. He can push back into it in this position, and he throws himself into it, eagerly rutting back against Bill while his cock rocks helplessly, untouched and aching for release. 

One hand grasps his shoulder while the other lays claim to his hip, guiding him back into the steady hammer of Bill’s cock. Bill leans forward, smearing a wet, panting kiss against the back of his neck. The rhythm of his thrusting doesn’t waver as he turns his attention to the bunched muscles rippling across Holden’s shoulders, weaving kisses across the perspiring skin and biting and sucking on bits of skin until Holden can feel the sting of hickeys blooming along the width of his shoulders. 

Holden squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the hints of pleasure roiling through his belly, clamping down tighter with every slap of Bill’s hips against his stinging backside. He can hear himself panting and moaning, but any kind of proper plea gets lost in the smoky haze of burning desires clinging to his brain. 

He’s so entranced by the sensations that he nearly sobs when Bill’s hand snakes around his belly to gather up his twitching, leaking cock in a deliberate fist. The stroke starts of slow and firm before hastening to match the eager pace of Bill’s rutting hips, quickly rubbing him towards completion. 

“Oh fuck, yes.” Holden moans, clinging to the headboard as his body momentarily goes limp with pleasure. Every muscle is quick to rejuvenate and clamp down as pleasure rises quick and fierce, gripping him through the middle with an unbearable, aching tightness. He can feel the orgasm bubbling up through his groin just before it hits, taking the breath out of his lungs, and seizing him in a brilliant surge of bone-deep spasms. 

Holden’s entire body trembles as release spills from his cock, across the sheets, down Bill’s knuckles. His eyes slip open to watch the gleam of his cock sliding in and out of Bill’s fist, milking him dry down to every last shudder and drop. The deep, blissful spasms meld into a sensitized ache, but Bill keeps stroking him, up until Holden gasps a plea for mercy; then he’s released, and slammed facedown against the damp sheets, his backside raised to the final, powerful thrusts of Bill’s hips driving himself over the edge. 

Holden’s mouth stretches open as the parts of him still reeling and tender from release are hammered into total submission before being glazed over with the hot, slick burst of orgasm. Clinging to the sheets, he rides through the long, hard spasms of Bill’s release, and gasps in pleasure when he feels the gush of cum dripping out of him and down his thighs. 

Bill trembles as he eases to a stop against Holden. He pats a hand down Holden’s quivering spine before pulling out, and dropping to the sheets with an exhausted exhale. 

Holden uncurls his legs from underneath him, and collapses to his belly against the sheets. Turning his face towards Bill’s side of the bed, he cracks his eyelids open to glimpse Bill’s profile backlit by the lamplight. His chest is rising sharply with racing breaths, and his knuckles are pressed against his forehead. 

For a long moment, their breaths rasp back and forth in the silence. Holden tries to think of something to say, but he can feel the oppressive weight of the last several weeks bearing down on him. This moment intersects jaggedly with the resistance and frustration, dragging them further and further from solid, familiar ground into unknown territory. 

Holden had gotten used to the cadence of their private relationship - the shutting of the door, the shift in the atmosphere, the silent setting aside of reality in exchange for the quick, heady tumble into a fantasyland. Maybe Ed and Vacaville changed all that. Maybe something else did; Holden can’t quite pinpoint it, but he wants it back, even for just one night. 

He can glimpse himself outside of this moment, his day-to-day self in ironed suits and prison basements, in the BSU office where Wendy and Gregg are watching. He can glimpse the consequences struggling to burst past the borders of privacy, spilling reality into the dark, compartmentalized pockets of satisfaction he’d tucked away for himself in the shared spaces between their bodies. Even if he closes his eyes, he can’t shove it away; it’s all right there behind his eyelids, dead kids lined up next to his naked, well-fucked body. 

“Bill.” He whispers, reaching across the sheets for something familiar. 

“Holden, please.” Bill says, and his voice is strained with a foreign plea. “Don’t.” 

Holden rolls onto his side, staring down Bill’s rigid profile. He wants to scream at Bill to be honest, to break down and tell him everything he’s obviously been hiding these past few weeks. He’s offered his body, everything he has; isn’t that enough? 

“I just want to know what you’re thinking.” Holden whispers, “Because, I sure as hell can’t figure it out.” 

Bill’s guarded gaze shifts to meet Holden’s impatient glare. His mouth compresses with a conflicted grimace, and he seems on the verge of saying something honest. 

“I just … I can’t tonight.” He says. There’s an edge of misery in his voice, an unusual yet deliberate plea for Holden to understand, to at least try. 

Holden glances away. His eyes are stinging again, though not from any type of physical pain. He blinks it away, and refocuses on the exhausted details of Bill’s face.

Their eyes linger on one another for a long silent moment before Bill rolls over against him. He buries his face in Holden’s neck, and wraps his arm around his waist, drawing in closer. 

Holden frowns at the sudden, vulnerable embrace, but he wraps his arm across Bill’s shoulders. His mind is racing with conclusions and possibilities, but he’s hit the wall of Bill’s resistance and honesty. He closes his eyes, and tries to enjoy the contact. This embrace is the furthest he gets tonight. 

~

In the end, it isn’t behind closed doors or after sex that Bill finally breaks down and spits the truth from his burning chest. It’s on the bank of a river with the hum of cicadas drowning out the pulse of his enraged blood, and the flicker of mosquitoes zipping through the muggy air. It’s at the tail-end of long, arduous week when his patience is thin and he can’t stand Holden looking at him like that any longer. It’s with anger and impatience, and a bit of cruelty. 

Bill walks away from Holden’s shocked, hurt expression, and fixes his gaze on the dirty brown rush of the river. He thinks he’ll apologize later, or try to make it up somehow. He thinks maybe that’s the end, and he’s never going to touch Holden again. He doesn’t know how he feels about that, whether he’s relieved or heartbroken. Either way, maybe the myth of him built up and idolized in Holden’s mind is entirely fractured. Maybe things will never go back to the way they were before the panic attacks and dead children. He can only think - hopefully, desperately - that for better or worse, Holden will always be there beside him when the dust eventually settles. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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